Check and Mate
by earth-dragon-1
Summary: Ron just wants to protect his loved ones, even if he has to fight Harry to do so.


**A/N: Some friends of mine got together and held a fic-a-thon. 3 prompts were pulled out of a Fiestaware bowl and we were given about a day to come up with a story. I wasn't actually present, so my prompts had to be given to me online, but i still had the greatest time. My three prompt were: Dolores Umbridge, Cold, and Scar. This story had no beta because we were supposed to post them as is, so any and all mistakes are mine --please forgive them. Oh, and warning for lots of foul language and a FIGHT (I mean a real fight!) between the boys.** **But all turns out well in the end.**

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Damn that Umbridge Woman! Just damn her right to bloody Hell and back! I'll be bloody FUCKED if I'm gonna watch Harry come back from another one of her _detention _sessions with his hand so bloody and shredded.

He already has one famous scar to worry about — he doesn't need the new ones she's giving him!

Umbridge and her quill are evil and I have a plan to sneak out and stop them whether Harry likes it or not. This is for his own good, even if he doesn't bloody-well understand that.

So check, mate.

He suffered in silence for so long, and never told any of us about those horrid cuts, about what was really happening in those damned detention sessions. But the first time I saw those newly forming scars across the back of his hand, and then the utter relief wash over his face when he sunk his hand down into the cold Murtlap solution — something inside me just burst! Of course, the obvious suggestion was to go to Dumbledore, but Harry can't ever be arsed with the easiest or most obvious solution, especially this year.

So, as furious as this may make him, and Hermione — and pretty much anyone who knows me — I have a plan to get rid of that quill and Dolores Umbridge for good. I just hope there's plenty of that cold Murtlap solution left, because I will need it. After tonight, I'll have scars that will make Moody look fetching.

I sneak very quietly down from our dormitory. When you live in a place like The Burrow, you learn how to move about quietly when you really want to. I reach the landing on the bottom of the stairs, and there, sitting on the sofa in the Common Room, is Harry, looking at me with such feigned innocence.

"Going somewhere, Ron?"

Fuck, he knows something is up, I can tell by his tone of voice and the look in his ever-sharp, green eyes. When the hell did he come back down here, anyway? I never heard him. But of course, this is Harry Potter, _Master of Sneaking About Undetected_. I bet he's sitting on his Invisibility cloak right now to keep me from seeing it. Damn.

Check.

"I thought I heard something, thought I better come check it out," I lie quickly.

His eyes flash cold fire. I've lost my Queen with that move. I should never have lied; he feels like he's been lied to so much already this year.

"Well, no one's been down here but me, and there's not been any noise, so you can go back upstairs to sleep." He says, then, as an added sting, offers, "My King" as a final touch.

That cuts worse than Umbridge's quill ever could, no matter how much trouble I had planned to get into.

I love Harry like everything, but I can't keep my temper from rising as I start to turn back for the stairs. "Shut your mouth, Harry, you've been running it overtime lately. Sorry I disturbed your sulking."

Check, again.

I get about ten steps up the winding staircase when I hear his feet sprinting up after me. It seems there's going to be some trouble-making after all. He grabs my shoulder and slams me back into the wall.

"So what should I call you, then, hum? My brave knight? Running off to fight my battles?"

It makes me ill to realize that the cracking sound of my fist across his face is satisfying. This is beginning to look more and more like a stalemate. But now my temper is flaring just as hot as his, and God-damn-it-all, I still want to protect him even though his nose is now dripping hot blood because of me. "And what the fuck do you know of it, anyway, huh? You're too caught up in you're own wanker-self to notice ANYTHING besides poor, poor Harry — and Cho! I HAVE been a Knight for you before, and don't you fucking-well forget it! Or is it only the famously brooding Harry Potter that gets to reserve the right to be the big hero?

He takes a swing at me, enraged. "How DARE you? You gangly, orange-headed..."

I go to swing at his face again, and he recoils, which leaves his stomach unprotected. Fred and George were two of the worse pranksters, and fighters, that I ever knew, but they taught me well. My next blow lands in his gut, and it takes the wind right out of him, and he doubles over.

"Ya know, I dunno if this has ever occurred to you, Harry, especially this year, as selfish as you've been, but some of the rest of us have loved ones that WE want to protect too, even if we don't have your famous scar." I turn once more and start back up the stairs, but then I stop and turn back to face him again.

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Check and mate.

"That really is all I ever wanted, even if I did just beat the bloody pulp out of you".

I turned around to really leave this time, when I feel his hand grab my robe, not to punch at me, but just to stop me. "I never asked you to," He wheezed.

I look at him hard. His nose is still trickling blood, and he's still stooped over, trying to catch his breath, but his eyes aren't so cold anymore, now they are just curious and impatient. He looks more like the Harry I used to know than he has for a long time.

"No," I tell him, and sigh deeply. "You didn't. You didn't have to. I was a Knight once before, and you didn't ask me, then, either."

"And I nearly got you killed," he answered, a little less wheezy. He wipes his nose with the back of his pajama sleeve. "This time would have done so for sure."

"You don't know anything about this time," I tell him, and he doesn't flinch or put up a fuss as I reach out and help him to sit down on the stairs.

"Yes, I do. Ever since you saw my hand yesterday evening, you've been far too quiet, and you didn't pitch the usual fit when you saw the new cuts. This time YOU became broody. You do that when you play chess, when you're forming some kind of plan; it's the only time you don't fuss with Hermione, or bitch about what an arse Snape is."

I quietly sit down next to Harry and let my eyes go wide. Mr. Self-involved had noticed this? About me? Perhaps the game wasn't over yet, Harry obviously had some Pawns left that I had not seen.

"You want to expose her, that's what you and Hermione keep urging me to do. So you think that if _I_ won't expose her, you will, and the best way to do that, is to do this," Harry held up his pathetically damaged hand, "On a much grander scale."

I sighed and dropped my head. Harry had me bested and I knew it.

Checkmate. Game over.

"So just how much of what kind of trouble did you plan to get caught at so you could come out of her office looking like you'd been through a paper shredder?"

"Through a what?"

"So you'd come out looking like you'd walked through a forest of knives?"

"Well, I figured I'd just start with some general mischief and work my way up from there."

"The twins taught you well."

"The twins don't know anything about this."

Harry's voice lowered to that of someone who was sharing a secret. "Does anyone else know about this, at all?"

"Besides you?" I answer, nearly overcome at the decidedly different direction this whole night had taken. "Are you mental?"

"NO!" Harry answered sharply. "You are, for wanting to do such a thing. You have no idea what she might have done to you! You're right, you have been a Knight before, you shouldn't have to be again."

"Some sacrifices are necessary, Harry. I just wanted to protect — "

But my words are suddenly cut off when Harry lifts up my chin and turn so we are face to face, and kisses me hard. Despite his swollen and sore nose, Harry kisses me with fire and passion, and any coldness that may have been left between us instantly warms to above average body temperature.

Just as suddenly as the kiss began, it stopped, and Harry pulled back away. "... the ones you love. Believe me, Ron, I know. I know."

That is definitely checkmate. I have never before lost a strategic match, but I think, if Harry is my partner rather than my opponent, we could win every game.


End file.
